


Unweaving

by STRANGEMUSIC



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, canon divergence - mag 187, he/they jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/STRANGEMUSIC/pseuds/STRANGEMUSIC
Summary: "Look at it this way. The world's already ended... how much worse can it be?"In which it gets worse. After all, knowledge of the future is a dangerous thing for those in the past.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27





	1. Epilogue

_Fucking stairs._

Jon had been climbing the spiraling steps of the panopticon tower for far too long. He couldn’t help but wonder how they were still breathing at this point, so far above the clouds. As was its nature, the Eye very unhelpfully informed them that he had no need for breathing any longer.

“So the tower is to be my chrysalis,” Jon said, neither hoping for nor receiving a reply. “I wish I was more surprised.”

And so they continued to climb further from their humanity and towards, well, tragedy. Jon didn’t Know for sure what was awaiting him at the top, but he knew in his heart well enough. Martin. Magnus. Both and neither as he remembered them. The panopticon was proving to be a place of many transformations. And, however pointless, a place of many endings as well. 

* * *

Too late. Time and space didn’t matter anymore and yet when Jon reached the panopticon’s main chamber he was still too late.

Martin stood across from the Archivist, the discarded mantle of Elias Bouchard slumped on the floor beside him. His eyes were so very wrong. Though the color remained the same, the love they were once so full of had been replaced by a sharp and uncaring malice. 

“Hello, Jon.” Magnus said, his voice a mocking impression of its previous owner. “You’re looking rather changed.” 

Jon didn’t need the extra eyes; he could already see all the horrors the apocalypse had to offer without them. The Beholding didn’t care. 

“I could say the same to you, _Jonah_.” 

“Hm, yes. I suppose so,” he smirked, glancing disinterestedly at the lovingly painted fingernails that were not his own. “Regardless, I’m glad you could join me. I do so hope you enjoyed your little trip down memory lane.”

“Was that your doing then?” Jon’s fists were clenched at their side, his voice stiff and calculated.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t take credit for that bit of handiwork. I have about as much control over the Web and its ilk as you had over yourself upon your first encounter with dear Mr. Spider. Although, I can’t deny that it was very convenient. Do you like the new look?”

“No,” they said with cold resolve. “No, I won’t let you live through him.”

“Come now, Archivist! Do you really want your Martin to be gone forever?”

“Thanks to you, that’s no longer for me to decide.” 

The main chamber was filled with a sudden static as the Archivist’s many eyes fixed on Magnus, righteous anger blazing in them all. 

As he began to speak, Jon saw a glint of fear in Magnus’ eyes for the very first time.

_“Ceaseless watcher, turn your gaze upon this deceitful creature. See him for who he truly is, and Know the pain that he has wrought. Bring to him the overdue end he has so cruelly avoided. Unbind his lies, lay bare his wretched soul! LET. HIM. BE. KNOWN.”_

Martin’s face that was no longer his own contorted, the full agony of a ruined world raining down upon him. An ear-splitting scream echoed through the room-

And then there was nothing but ash, silence, and a broken man left to stand alone at the focal point of a world he was made to destroy. 

Jon sank to their knees and began to cry.


	2. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is alone. Everyone is gone. There is nothing left but the panopticon. 
> 
> Well, that and a new door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot damn it's been a while,,  
> I had to rewrite this three times because the vibes were off, but I'm finally happy with it! 
> 
> Chapter CWs: implied suicidal ideation, body horror, scopophobia, compulsion, referenced character death, depersonalization

Time was difficult and unreliable, but fear was something Helen understood well enough. There was less of it now; the apocalypse simply wasn’t as gloriously apocalyptic as it had been. That’s not to say it had become any less horrific, far from it! But the frequency of deaths in the domains (not to mention the hotel) had been rising, and while her own starvation was inevitable, Helen did not fancy the idea of her last days being filled with the same old monotony of putting on a friendly smile and leading wayward guests further into the delightful maze of winding passages and hungry doors. 

It had to be relatively safe to visit the Watcher’s tower by now. Even if it wasn’t, well, what’s life without a bit of risk and a boatload of uncertainty?

And so, a new yellow door creaked open a few inches above the floor of the panopticon’s main chamber, revealing the Archivist’s lair. 

Helen took a minute to observe her surroundings, though whether it was of her own will or the Eye influencing her, she couldn’t say. The circular room would’ve been blindingly bright if she had had anything that could’ve been called a proper eye; there were no shadows whatsoever for horrors to lurk in. As far as she could tell, the chamber was utterly empty save for her door and two figures. The first was now human, but a long since dead human by the shape his fully submerged corpse was in. Elias always had been rather rude to her and Michael. Good riddance. 

The second hadn’t been human for a long while, but there was absolutely no denying his monstrosity now. They were floating in the center of the room, silent tears endlessly flowing from thousands of glowing green eyes and streaming out the windows, down the sides of the panopticon.

Helen would’ve laughed at the sight if it wasn’t for the crushing weight of the Archivist’s grief. “Hello, Jon,” she said, settling for a simple greeting instead. “You’re soggy.”

It was rather impossible for the Archivist not to be facing Helen as it was, but the second her voice bounced through the chamber, all of his eyes snapped to focus on her- a rather impressive feat given that her form was constantly shifting.

“Ah, I see. Did I touch a nerve there?” Helen raised.. an eyebrow? Probably. “Regardless, love the new look! I suppose I was wrong; the Eye does have an appreciation for tall, dark, and monster.”

Jon remained silent. Boring little prick.

“God, can you even speak anymore? I mean, you’re all.. _eyes._ ” 

“Says the being with no constant facial features,” Jon intoned, their voice coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It sounded cobbled together and had a distinctly mechanical whirring layered beneath it. 

“Hm, touché. Though it is a shame Martin isn’t here; I suspect he’d appreciate your spooky transformation in a rather singular way,” she audibly smirked. “Alas, can’t save everyone. Or, I suppose, in your case, anyone!” She began to laugh, but the raucous noise was cut short by force.

“ ** _Don’t._** ”

Helen wasn’t scared by this. Of course not. But that feeling of being denied the right to control whatever scrap of identity she still had? Not at all pleasant. Best to shift the Archivist’s focus. 

“Oh, come on. You’ve got nothing left to lose!” A friendly grin flickered across what was probably Helen’s face before it rejoined the swirling, glitchy mess of light and contorted flesh she called a body. “Lighten up, Archivist, have some fun! Or are you just going to sulk up here in your watchtower until the world dies out?” 

“And if I do?” The Archivist said in the same choppy style as before, tears still falling freely. 

Helen scoffed.

“Whatever happened to that oh-so-annoying do-gooder spark of yours? Why, not so long ago, weren’t you all about ‘saving the world?’” She gestured dramatically, her hands the only part of her distinct enough to be capable of doing so. “I mean, if there’s a way to do it, you’re not gonna find it up here.”

“It was always M-,” Jon’s voice hitched. “I’m not sure I ever really believed it could be saved.” Somehow, admitting that made him look even more broken. “Either way, you’re wrong on that last point. I can see everything from up here, even more clearly than before. There’s nothing I can do to set the world back. I’ve Looked.”

“Nothing _you_ can do, maybe,” Helen said conspiratorially. 

“What?”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with more of a hero complex,” Helen sighed. How was it that she, the embodiment of all that is lies and unreality, was explaining something so simple to the chosen servant of an omniscient fear god? “It doesn’t always have to be you, Archivist. There are plenty of other avatars out there with more... _proactive_ abilities.”

“Yes, I- I suppose you’re right.” Jon’s tears were falling slower now, but something in their eyes had sharpened to a point. “ ** _Why are you trying to help me, Helen?_** ”

Helen stammered, the words tumbling from the lie that was her mouth like overly ripe fruit from a shaken tree, “Because it’s boring, because I’m going to die no matter what happens so I might as well have some fun! And because Helen liked you. She trusted you. And as much as trust is antithetical to everything she now is- _I_ now am, that trust hasn’t gone away entirely. You could’ve killed me; you had every chance to and more than enough reason. You could’ve chosen to go through my domain instead of that freaky library, but you chose mercy. You chose _me,_ whether you knew it or not at the time.”

Jon didn’t bother with responding; they just kept staring. Helen was uncomfortably unaware of whether or not that was a good sign. Best not push it. Best not complain. 

“You were merciful because you wanted to feel human,” she continued, though the words were not being pulled from her against her will any longer. “Funny how that eventually led you further away from your humanity, isn’t it? Poor Martin. I will miss our banter. But I’ve still got you, so why don’t you come down from your big scary tower and tour the apocalypse one last time with an old friend?”

Jon’s fists were clenched now- can’t have been terribly comfortable for the eyes covering his palms. “Alright! Alright, just- just **_stop talking about Martin._** ”

 _Didn’t give me much of a choice now, did you?_ She thought, rather embittered. There was just so much good material there! No appreciation for a proper comedian in this economy. 

When she spoke again, Helen was careful to keep her animosity hidden. “Fine. Wonderful, in fact! I’ll be seeing you then; have fun with all those stairs. Bye now! (:”

With the confused look in his eyes, Helen couldn’t contain her spiraling laughter. The all-knowing errand boy of the Ceaseless Watcher was utterly dumbstruck. 

“How did you say that out loud? Helen?” He tried to question her, but the door that was not there and never had been had already swung shut and disappeared. 

* * *

The new London was not very hospitable towards places like Helen. Too many prying eyes and disapproving stares. Then again, Helen was not very hospitable towards places like London. The hand of the Distortion exited her halls, daring the bulbous sentries of the Watcher to perceive her fluctuating form. For a few unbearable moments, they all turned their gaze towards Helen. The pressure of the curious eyes upon her was like a hammer to the thumb, as they tried to force the confines of reality and logic onto her. She didn’t flinch as she began to solidify and stay as such; this was the most fun she’d had in… well, about two minutes, but that was beside the point. 

But as constant things so often do, solidity got boring. Not even the nasty eye in the sky Knew when the Archivist would make it down the panopticon, and though Helen was certain they were coming… better to wait in the halls. 

But just as she turned back to the absent omnipresent hallway, a mechanical scream whirred and echoed through the streets, followed shortly by the sound of something lightly impacting the eye-pocked walkway just outside the former institute. The pressing gaze of London’s watchers was no longer directed at her. Instead they were focused on… 

“Jon,” Helen said, not quite a statement nor a question, upon seeing the eye riddled man now pouting on the ground. He made a sour expression at the thought. 

“I’m _not_ p- oh. Oh dear,” the Archivist gasped, regret washing over him. “Helen, I- I swear I didn’t Look.”

“Perk of the new promotion, hm?” Helen grinned a bit too wide, even for her. The skin around her mouth that wasn’t stretched and snapped in protest. “Blatant invasion of my privacy aside, might I inquire as to how it is that you’ve gotten here so quickly? I’m assuming you didn’t tumble down that surprisingly tasteful spiral staircase inside your tower.”

“No. I may have. Jumped out the window?” Jon said tentatively, bracing for a reprimand from Martin that would never come. There was only Helen now. Indifferent and _very_ amused Helen.

In one way or another, she had been there since Jon first became Archivist. In the then unread statements, as the helpful man with wrong hands meeting poor Sasha for the first time, as the door that wasn’t there when he wanted it and was there when they did not. She had been there for it all. She had seen all of their mistakes, his failings and shortcomings. She had seen his victories too, however few they were in number. She also saw that those victories only came when there were other people around to help them along. 

“Some people never change, do they?” she said with a prodding flash of all the teeth she owned and thensome. “I have to admit, jumping out the window of a _deliciously_ impossible tower is a new low for you.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I have?” Jon said defensively, finally getting up off the ground. “Heaven forbid the Watcher let anything hurt its high priest!” He exclaimed, a hint of disappointment tainting his attempt at a jest. “Besides, you were so eager to get our second road trip through hell started; at the time, it seemed logical to take a short cut.”

Helen bent down closer to Jon’s eye level, folding like the living accordion of some eldritch street musician to do so, though the high pitched squealing of such a contortion made music fit for no ear, real or otherwise. She raised the idea of an eyebrow, and Jon squirmed almost imperceptibly under her shifting gaze.

“Are you going to be like... _this_ the whole time?” She said, gesturing to nothing and everything about Jon in particular. “Because if that’s the case, I don’t see why you bothered coming down.”

“Like what, exactly?” Jon protested. 

“Oh, woe is me!” Helen lowered her voice in a mocking impression and feigned despair, putting the back of her hand to the possibility of a forehead that wasn’t hers. “I have nothing to live for! I’m going to make nothing but poor choices and waste any opportunity I might have to set things right, because everything is pointless!” She dropped the impression. “If it weren’t for the funky fresh eye halo, I might’ve mistaken you for a servant of the Falling Titan.”

Jon gave Helen his trademark Look that used to be reserved for Tim whenever he said something “unprofessional” at work. 

“1. I sound nothing like that.” (They definitely did.) “And 2. I’m not wasting anything. I’m just… not entirely sure there was ever anything to waste to begin with.”

“I sound nothing like that,” Helen snickered mockingly under her breath, just loud enough for Jon to hear.

“Oh, fuck off,” they said, glaring at Helen in a way that was barely convincing of anger. “Now, are you just going to stand there making a mockery of the man who could destroy you in five seconds flat or are we actually going to get a move on?”

“Right you are! I can walk _and_ make a mockery of you! Where to, oh, great and powerful one?”

Jon rolled his many eyes, a dizzying sight to be sure. “What you said about the Falling Titan gave me an idea,” they said. “I think I ought to give Mr. Fairchild a little parting gift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> come shout at me on twitter @/STRANGEMUSlC (the i in music is a lowercase l)


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